Well, I'll Be Buggered
by TabbyCat33098
Summary: Arthur's delusional and Eames finds it positively delectable. Complete and utter crack.


A/N: The excuse for this is that I wrote 200 words worth of cracky dialogue because of an online prompt generator, and then rewatched Inception last night, reread this piece, and realized it was a perfect conversation between besotted!Eames and drunkashell!Arthur. So I fixed the dialogue, improvised the details, and essentially yolo'd this to the extreme. It's my first time writing these characters, so I hope I've got them in character. I do want to write them once or twice more in the future though, so any feedback is appreciated.

(The title is an honest-to-god awful pun that I sincerely wish had never crossed my mind, but as the entire fic is crack anyway, I suppose it can be excused.)

As always, reviews are loved and favorites/alerts are hoarded for viewing pleasures on rainy days. Happy reading!

* * *

**Well, I'll Be Buggered**

Arthur pauses in the doorway, swaying lightly, and surveys the room with a slightly glazed glare. "I think the room is bugged," he declares.

Eames swallows back a laugh. He's dealt with this side of Arthur before. It never fails to amuse him, not least because he sees it so rarely. "No, darling, I assure you it is not. Calm down, it's just our home."

Arthur's already squinty eyes narrow further. "That's exactly what they want you to think! Explain this: if the room isn't bugged, then… what's this!" He paws around in his pocket before holding out a small object triumphantly.

"That's your cell phone," Eames explains in exasperation. The phone is gripped precariously between Arthur's index finger and thumb, and it begins to tremble even as Eames watches. Eames worries that it will fall and shatter, and he doesn't want to faces Arthur's inevitable disappointment and panic once he sobers up. Eames easily plucks the phone from Arthur's grasp; Arthur doesn't appear to notice.

"Exactly!" he continues obliviously. He flails his hands in the air, painting a rather endearing picture of uncoordinated momentum. "And they can listen to what we're saying through it!" He sways dangerously before Eames catches him. He drapes one of Arthur's arms around his neck and slowly begins walking them both to their bedroom.

"Arthur," he begins, his mouth twisted into a bemused grin, but Arthur cuts him off.

"Wait," he says, and stops in his tracks. Eames stumbles slightly. He regains his balance almost immediately, however, and tugs Arthur along once more. "Oh no. Eames, do they know we know? Do they know we know they know we know? Do they know… we kn- they know we know they- they kn- Do they?"

Eames' smile is blatant now, and he's thankful Arthur isn't looking at him. Arthur would absolutely die of mortification if he knew how adorable Eames finds him. "No, darling, they don't know anything," he says instead, aiming for reassuring but really just sounding amused. "Your phone is dead, don't you remember? It ran out of charge." They've reached the bedroom by now, and Eames attempts to push Arthur towards the bed.

Arthur swings his heavy-lidded glare on Eames, who quickly schools his expression into something vaguely resembling serious. "What if they only programmed it like that?" Arthur whispers. "God, Eames, _what if there are more bugs?_"

Eames has to inhale deeply before he can reply without dissolving into fits of laughter, "No, sweetheart, there aren't any bugs. You're just tired, and you've had a mite too much to drink. Let me help you to bed."

Arthur's hands flail wildly again. He paws ineffectively at Eames' chest in a futile attempt to leave the bed. "No- No, I have to- I have to check the bed, and the desk, and the comp- the lapto- the technology!"

Eames ignores him. His eyes are drooping even as he keeps up his protests, and his voice has been steadily dropping into a whisper. Eames is confident Arthur will be out like a light within minutes. "Is this alright?" he asks anyway. "Do you want to be under the blanket?"

"Just the pillow please thank you," Arthur mumbles incoherently. His eyes are shut, and he curls into himself and clutches the pillow tightly. "Does the pillow have- have- what was I…?"

Eames presses a light kiss to his forehead, smiling in response to the soft smile that graces Arthur's lips. "Don't worry about it, love. Just sleep for now," he whispers as he turns around to change into more suitable clothes.

He doesn't miss Arthur's whispered, "Okay."

**FIN**


End file.
